


Caged

by EnemiesWithBenefits



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Abuse, Alternate Universe - BeastTale, Anti-Monster Sentiment, Anxiety, Bara Sans, Bruises, Growling, Intrusive Thoughts, Panic Attacks, People Watching, Reader stutters, Slow Burn, Stuttering, Vent Work, Violence, domestic abuse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-28
Updated: 2017-06-17
Packaged: 2018-09-02 19:58:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,612
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8681455
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EnemiesWithBenefits/pseuds/EnemiesWithBenefits
Summary: Title & Summary subject to change. Tags will be added as the story goes along.You can remember clearly the first day you saw him.That beat-up wooden stand sitting in the middle of the park underneath the shade of a tall, tall, oak tree. He was sitting there, head propped in his hand, the other rapping upon the old wood in sync with the mindless way his gaze seemed to flicker from person to person, human to human.He looked alone.And you could understand that.





	1. Glass jar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “ Very rarely, you’ve been lucky enough to see him laugh –  
> You really aren’t sure why this monster catches your attention so _vividly._ ”  
> 

You… you really aren't sure about this.

A lashing tail shows just how annoyed he is, even if there's a painted grin shaping large canines into something supposedly nicer. You've been walking by this stand nearly every day now for the past month - working on building up the courage to approach.

“ya need somethin’ or ‘re ya jus’ gonna stand there all day, sweetheart?”

His voice startles you - it's deeper than you remember, a harsh, blunt thing that makes you flinch.

“S-sorry.” Shaking your head, your eyes skip over him, missing the way his frown deepens the lightest margin when you startle.

“... Here.”

You pull a hand out of your pocket - still refusing to meet his gaze. In hand, is a single, crisp bill. Twenty dollars.

His frown softens, somewhat.

Fingers shaking from the cold you drop the money into the empty tip jar sitting neatly atop the splintered, aged wood. You eye the chipping paint with fake interest, shoving your hand back into your pocket.

“.... are ya gonna buy somethin’?”

You shake your head - how stupid you must look, coming up for no reason other than to give a stranger money. Your nails rake into your palm, hidden away from the cold. It’s below freezing, and the breath from your lungs clouds the air like a pyre’s smoke.

“I…” What else can you say?

_~~You’re too kind~~ _ _._

You gather the courage to meet his gaze and he’s watching you with a tilted head and small, fuzzy eye-lights in his sockets. His smile is no longer painted – _forced –_ and instead he seems much more… relaxed. At least he still doesn’t look ready to bite someone’s head off.

“Have a g-good day.”  

He continues to watch as you turn around and leave him there – waiting, twenty bucks in an empty, glass tip jar because of some kind human who noticed it’s never been more than that. Empty.

 

 

 

 

The next day, when you walk through the park through slightly warmer weather, he’s sleeping at his stand, not exactly an _unfamiliar_ sight, a sign hanging around his neck and across his broad chest that reads “On break – be back soon!”

It makes you laugh, like always, and even though it’s unplanned – you place a dollar and seventeen cents into that empty, glass tip jar.

You walk away to a dozing monster watching you go.

  
  
  


The next time you come through the park, it’s been a week.

There’s a coin in your pocket you’ve been thumbing for a while now, an excuse to see the smiling skeleton. As always, he sits there at his stand – tall, larger than you by easily three or four feet. At least, you think so. You’ve never seen him stand before. It’s a rough estimate.

He’s serving a customer, so you walk through a slightly more crowded park to stand behind them – you try to pretend you can’t hear them talking about the weather. There’s a mention about this kind stranger being unable to have enough extra to leave a tip for his hotdog – and the monster saying it’s, “ _snow_ problem.”

You’re taken by surprise at the laugh that snorts out of you.

Sheepish, you look away – and miss the slightest stretch of the skeleton’s grin. The stranger just laughs amiably at the pun and walks off with his food. It seems like a good day.

“haven’t seen ya ‘round lately, sweetheart.” He’s leaning forward, head propped in his hand – there’s a sly smile on his jaw, something you don’t see often when walking through.

Very rarely, you’ve been lucky enough to see him laugh –

You really aren’t sure why this monster catches your attention so _vividly._

“Be-been busy.” You can’t help the way you naturally stutter, and tugging at the scarf around your neck, you shiver. It’s cold out – it’s definitely gotten colder in this past week, and it’s only going to get worse. Smiling shyly in return to his own grin, your cheeks are a bright rosy red as you pull out the coin.

It’s an old, rare silver dollar. Easily worth fifty bucks – and it’s in good condition. Something left from relatives. He frowns heavily – and you go to explain, pausing before dropping it into the glass jar.

“It’s a si – ”

But then there’s a hand on your wrist, holding you still, cutting you off. Giant’s hands – wrapping around the small stretch of skin with ease. The bone is smooth, warm, thrumming with something within.

You freeze, and it takes everything within you not to pull away.

But there’s something tender in his gaze as his other hand reaches up – that scarf you’d adjusted previously, he goes to pull down, revealing the nasty bloom of blue-black, greenish-purple skin. He looks… angry? You aren’t sure. His eye-sockets are narrowed, the lights within tiny and sharp as he exhales warm air through his nasal cavity.

You stop him before he makes to pull it off all the way, putting your free hand on his own wrist.

“Don’t. P-please.”

You don’t even know his name. He doesn’t know yours. You’ve only talked to him twice.

He looks from your neck to your face, a piercing, unreadable gaze. Normally his expression is fluid, something you can usually read with ease from halfway across the park.

This feels… _intimate._

He tugs it off anyways, and his other hand drops yours, and it falls to join the other at your side.

It’s easy to see your neck is bruised horribly. From what, well – that too, is easy to garner. It still aches with every breath you take, easy to see it’s recent.

Something dark _rumbles_ from his chest. It’s a noise that scares you.

You hold up a hand for your scarf. You’re shaking, but it’s not from the cold. His eyes are only for your neck, but you look up to him with your own pleading gaze.

You’re scared.

“C-can I have that b-back now?” Your voice is timid, weak. You feel vulnerable, insignificant beneath his gaze.

_~~What a MONSTER~~ _ _._

His previously relaxed form tense, eye-lights narrowed and watching you with a sharp focus. He looks angry, and it feels like he’s judging you. It’s easy to feel your back burning, skin crawling at the sensation of being scrutinized by those eyes. You’re almost certain someone else is watching, too. You are in public after all.

Eventually, he hands it back, and you put it back on quickly as if hiding something shameful – which it is.

“Thank you. Have a nice d-day.”

You drop the coin into the jar and walk away on unsteady, shaking legs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eyyyyy - come bug me at my new [writing tumblr!](http://scripttura.tumblr.com)


	2. Hard earth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> " He didn't deserve a lot of what you saw. "

It's been a month since you've walked through that park.

You've got your reasons - one of them being the sting of a ring on your cheek and the other a large monster with a penchant for smiling too much. Mainly the monster, though.

He scares you.

And you knew it wasn't really his fault, but you can't get out of your mind's eye the way his entire hand engulfed your wrist, nor the way he’d with gone your consent and _invaded_ your personal space. Even if he’d _had_ good intentions you can't help the way your body shakes at the thought, mind shutting down with a panic you can't control.

You haven't seen him since.

_~~Thankfully~~ _ _._

But there's still that jug hidden in the back your closet, nearly filled to the brim. It makes you bite your nails, sitting there on the edge of a hard, spring ridden mattress. Your eyes keep going between said closet and your phone, even though there's things you should be doing.

It seems like both an eternity and only a minute later until you pick up your phone. With a few flicks of your fingers, away goes the lock screen along with a few notifications you'll look at later.

It only takes a few moments until you pull up a familiar number.

Your fingers are shaking.

 

[ **TXT;; 9:41 AM** ] xxx

Morning!

 

[ **TXT;; 9:41 AM** ] Ry

Morning beautiful <3

 

You feel sick.

 

[ **TXT;; 9:42 AM** ] Ry

Sorry I'm not there 2 wake up w/ you

Any plans today?

 

Part of you bitterly wonders why he even bothers asking. The answer's always the same.

 

[ **TXT;; 9:42 AM** ] xxx

Nope. Was gonna clean up some, maybe take a walk. Been a while.

 

[ **TXT;; 9:42 AM** ] Ry

I got n idea, actually

Let me make last night up to u?

 

Your heart is pounding, your head throbbing. You still need to get out of bed and get cleaned up.

 

[ **TXT;; 9:43 AM** ] xxx

What did you have in mind? :0

 

[ **TXT;; 9:43 AM** ] Ry

Surprise

Be rdy to go out round 3? K babe?

 

You swallow on a dry throat.

 

[ **TXT;; 9:43 AM** ] xxx

Mkay

 

There's a pause, and you pick at the fresh scabs on your arms, attempting to work up some courage.

 

[ **TXT;; 9:45 AM** ] xxx

Love you

 

A beat.

 

[ ✔ **SEEN AT 9:45 AM** ]

 

Certain you aren't going to get a reply until later, you slink out of bed with a small hope in your chest - you've got plenty of time to take a walk.

But… some part of you can't help but feel that's intentional on his behalf - just another way of making it up to you.

  
  
  


You haven't been out of the house in nearly three weeks - it's gotten significantly colder, and you have to wrap up in something much warmer than a ratty sweater and an old scarf. You're lucky to still have a beaten-up maroon letterman sitting in your closet, incidentally near the jug.

Popping it open, you grab a fistful of ones. It's nine dollars total when you stop to count.

You... you wanted to make it up to him. To that monster. He didn't deserve the way you'd flinched from him or the fear you're certain he saw in your eyes. He didn't deserve that.

He didn't deserve a lot of what you saw.

Your Letterman is more than enough warmth for your top half, but your jeans really aren't cutting it. You're shaking as you head out the door - but this time you're certain it's from the cold.

Or maybe… you're a little excited.

  
  
  


His stand isn't there anymore.

You're standing beneath that old oak tree, the grass by your feet spotted by frosty earth where something once stood. It's easy to see that, whatever it was, it hasn't been there in a while.

When you look down to the cold, hard earth you sigh out a cloud of warm, misty air. Checking your phone – it’s only a little past eleven. You’ve got time.

It’s one of those strange days where the sky is clear despite the frost on the ground, and you take a seat and stare upwards, towards a sky filtering through barren branches. It’s oddly enjoyable, the way you cloud the air with smoke, eagerly puffing out lungsful of air to watch it form and dissipate.

It’s… been a long while since you felt this carefree, pocket full of crumpled ones, a soft smile on your lips.

But something heavy weighs in your heart as you close your eyes, head tipped towards an unforgiving sky, thinking of that strange, lonely skeleton. There’s no denying he’s a monster as the term applies – you know that. You’ve seen what some of them can do, seen the carnage and seen that skeleton lash out so badly at a rude passerby that he’d growled deep, snapping a maw full of dagger-like teeth.

But you’ve also seen him be kind to strangers, always a smile first, a lonely gaze flicking between moving bodies as if he were reading a book, line by line, page by page. He was smart – and it was only fair he’d caught your attention.

After all, your initials were carved into the trunk of this tree. You used to sit here every day until that stand popped up.

Your phone buzzes, knocking you out of your thoughts and a playful daydream of how you could once climb to the highest branch of any old oak, given the chance. Pulling it out with ease, lips pursed, you falter when you see who it is.

Ry.

Your mood drops, and you suddenly feel the cold earth beneath you seeping deep into your skin, an unforgiving thing you wished would just swallow you whole. The message is hidden, and you go to unlock the screen –

“heya sweetheart.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Like said before and in the comments section, there definitely will be more tags added as we go along! This is mainly because I haven't really planned this out at all, even though I'm getting some good ideas as I go!
> 
> you know what else isn't planned out? my [writing tumblr!](http://scripttura.tumblr.com)


	3. Back off

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> " Had he attacked you? With his magic?  
> You... you can't do this. "

"H-hiya." Looking upwards once more, you meet his gaze - his tall, brooding form looming far above you from the ground. He makes you feel tiny despite his pink slippers, cobalt hoody, and gentle grimace of a smile.

You're afraid.

_~~Are you really~~ _ _?_

He's alone as far as you can tell, the small lights of his eyes peering down at you curiously. Hands in his pockets, there's a moment where he tilts his head in thought, the both of you watching each other - you aren't sure what to say or do, and once again your nails dig into the skin of your palm.

"that urgent?" He's nodding at your phone, and you pause, looking down at the still unlocked screen.

"... No." Back it goes into your pocket, and you continue to look up at this tall, strange skeleton, feeling like you've just committed treason.

... You can always say you didn't see it until later.

You fidget uncomfortably - he's still staring at you with a gaze that makes you feel like you're being judged for your worth, unsure if you should stand or not. Then, he holds out a large, bony hand - "here, lemme lend ya a hand."

That earns him a small snort like laugh as you reach up, hesitant but not unwilling. His hand is nearly twice the size of yours, warm and smooth - it closes around your own and up you go, standing on cold legs.

"Thanks. I'm y-y/n." There's another small smile on your lips as he rumbles out something agreeable - a noise nowhere near actual _words,_ per say, but still understandable as something good. Like a noise a cat - or even your dog, might make.

"name's sans, sans th'skeleton." His small smile warrants his own grin to change into something less distant, both more genuine and warm than the last.

"It's a p-pleasure." You shake his hand and he drops it after another small moment of novelty - you can't help but feel both curious and titillated by the way his bones thrum warm against your skin, so you don't mind all that much.

"heh, yeah." There's a few moments where you're almost certain he's going to ask, a familiar concern in his face before he turns slightly, raising his.... brows ( ? ) in a friendly, quirky manner. "ya wanna go grab somethin' ta eat or...? i know a pretty good place. my treat."

You really should know better.

_~~Stranger danger.~~ _

But technically, you don't have to be home until three, right? And besides, you know his name and him yours. Not a stranger. You offer up a wider smile paired with a nod - hands finding their home in your pocket.

"I'd love t-to - "

" _Hey!_ "

Almost immediately you flinch - both you and Sans turning to face them, struck from your own little world that you’d been so caught up in. Whoever it is, their voice is sharp, and nowhere near friendly. And if anything... they sounded _familiar._ Standing not too far away are two men and a woman, all of them people you've seen before - you just can't recall where.

"What're you doing here again, _beast?_ " They're stepping closer and you can't help but recoil backwards, even though you're not their target. You've recognized them by now - they haven't been around for a long while, but they used to come over to play cards, smoke, and drink late into the night. Friends of Ry.

Almost immediately Sans turns further towards them, as if shielding you before them - you can't see his face, but you can almost _feel_ the low rumble that seems to come straight out of his chest. One of the men ( adam? alan? airon? you can't recall ) steps back with a flash of fear in his eyes, but the other guy ( mitch, you're certain ) only sneers.

Part of you is afraid of how the unfamiliar woman sways between them, glazed, hate filled eyes slowly going from Sans to _you._

" _Monster fucker!_ " The words are spat like bile, sudden and without any provoking - she's drunk, you tell yourself, even though it's barely midday. She's looking at you like you're the scourge of the earth.

_~~Aren't you~~?_

It's at her admission Mitch looks behind Sans at _you,_ eyes narrowing with another sharp sneer.

You take another step back, and ignore the way your legs itch to run.

"What're you doing here with this _thing?_ Didn't Ry teach you better _?_ "

This time, Sans steps forward and it's definitely a snarl that rips out between a clenched jaw. It only makes you flinch harder, another step back as your throat feels like it's beginning to close up.

What if they told Ry? What if he found out? That you were here again - no, not only that, but with a _monster?_

"back. off." Sans' voice is deep, darker than even the low baritone he normally spoke in. You can't see his face, but you can see how Alan ( you're just guessing ) looks like he might shit himself. Mitch himself looks venomous, the girl still swaying on her feet despite the near lethal look turned your way.

Your phone is buzzing in your pocket.

"What? No, you back the fuck off you _monster._ I thought you knew better after we burnt your stand to the ground." Licking your lips, your eyes catch the gazes of more people that are slowly trickling in to watch - drawn in by loud, angry voices and more than likely what looks like a frightened girl being rescued from an angry monster. "You should know you beasts like you aren't welcome here - nor anywhere on the surface. You should be put back _underground_."

_~~Shouldn’t you say something~~ _ _?_

Your hands are shaking in your pockets, and it's getting hard to breathe - there's a decent sized crowd watching now and they're all throwing either angry or sympathetic looks your way.

All Sans gets is daggers in every gaze but yours.

"i said _back off_ , _**h u m a n .**_ " When Sans takes a step forward, nearly everyone else takes a step back - but you.

You don't know how, but you're at Sans' side - your feet having carried you there.

You reach a hand up and put it on his arm - trying to catch his attention but he only turns to you with another snarl, the sound alone making you jump back as if burned.

_~~Maybe you had a good reason for being afraid~~ _ _._

You don't see the way his features soften, or the way regret flashes hard in his gaze. You're too busy looking at your hand, and the way it stings, like...

Had he _attacked_ you? With his _magic?_

Looking up with wide, bright eyes you only see sharp teeth, pale bone, and foreign, alien eyes. Looking to Ry's friends, you see familiarity. They look _angry -_ Sans, this _monster,_ looks sad.

You... you can't do this.

Your phone is still _buzzing._

A break in the crowd and you leave - throat tight and lungs cold with every sharp inhale of frosty air.

_You can't do this._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> eyyyy come bug me on my [writing tumblr](http://scripttura.tumblr.com)!


	4. Falling down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> " It’s far too obvious you didn’t just 'fall' down the stairs. "

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **TW **;; Mention of Abuse, Effects of Abuse, Hospital enviroment.****

Going to the hospital is always hard.

You miss working here - you even miss your volunteering days, and learning how to help others. You miss the thrill of working hard, of pushing yourself, of learning something new nearly every day in what you had often joked about being your home environment.

Now, it only feels tedious and constricting.

"And how exactly did you fall, Ms. l/n?" Trying not to whine when the doctor continued to press cold fingers to your ribs, you look over to the side and to a closed doorway, finding no one in sight. Right - he'd left to go call someone, hadn't he?

"I was feeling really d-dizzy. I kinda bl-blacked out?" When he presses into your stomach you inhale sharply, the skin underneath tender and bright bruises already beginning to form. He seems to focus on that spot, pressing around to check for any kind of hemorrhage. You continue, "I was about to walk d-downstairs and then suddenly I was on the g-ground. Ry was shaking me."

"Your partner?" He leans closer, blinking behind thick glasses. He's more middle-aged, and you can see his experience from the laugh lines and crow’s feet on his face, down to the gentle way he's treated you. You nod, and he hums thoughtfully before continuing. "And do you feel any pain when I do this?"

You try to hide the way you wince when he presses down on the sensitive skin of your stomach and ribs – it hurts, and it takes far too much experience of hiding pain to stop the hiss that works its way up your throat. You shake your head gingerly despite the way you winced hard at his palpitations.

“Yes. He’s my p-partner.” Your eyes are caught behind him, over his shoulder into the space there. You’re getting nervous with the way he’s blinking down at you, kind, warm gaze nothing short of comforting - except now. His kindness only makes you guilty and anxious. He’s not letting up on that spot either, gingerly pressing down and around it, and it’s getting harder to not tell him that yes, it does hurt, and to please _stop_.

“Well, he seems extremely concerned with your wellbeing.” The way he says this makes your heart clench, his statement both true but not. Sure – Ry had been nothing but doting since the moment he’d brought you in, but he also seemed so rushed, so eager to step outside. You know what this looks like – people don’t break ribs falling down stairs.

Being pushed down them? Well, that’s another story.

You close your eyes and breathe in deep, before exhaling it slowly. His cold hands leave you and immediately you’re relieved, looking back up at him with fluttering eye-lashes. He’s taking off his stethoscope, but pauses, looking at you for a few moments before glancing to the shut door, then back again.

Then, he’s heaving out a long sigh.

You know that sigh.

“Ms. l/n.” He’s using a stern, if almost parental tone on you now. You’d already spotted the wedding ring on his finger not too long ago – perhaps he had kids? Or was he just so used to treating patients so familiarly? Either way, it both unnerves you and helps in the way your shoulders relax, still lying down, gown unbuttoned right below where your ribs poked out beneath skin.

“You do know it is in your best interest not to withhold any information from the staff here in charge of your treatment and wellbeing, yes?” Oh, you know. But you also know the alternative isn’t something you think you can bare – especially considering just how fragile everything already is. “…We only want what’s best for your health, so it would really be helpful if you told us what’s actually wrong.”

On the surface, it could be him asking about how the giant bruise on your stomach most _obviously_ hurt and how you were hiding it so horribly –

But in actuality, it could be about the way you’d almost been eager to see Ry go, eager to flit away from him, both physically and vocally retreating from his presence in your stay here so far.

It’s far too obvious you didn’t just ‘fall’ down the stairs.

He’s getting sloppy, is all.

You hate that you know that. That he was sloppy compared to normal, and only because he was so _angry._

“I… I know. I’m… sorry, D-doctor Melenyzer.” Looking sheepish at the very least – you’re glancing away, hands fisting at your side in the fabric of the hospital gown you’ve been forced into. For a moment, he looks apprehensive and yet hopeful when you look back to him, still ducking your gaze slightly. “It really d-did hurt - my stomach.”

And he deflates.

You only feel bad for the next few seconds, long enough for the door to crack open and a familiar, angry face to walk through. You’re far too surprised at who it is, suddenly far too happy despite their expression – there’s something bright and warm in your chest as you sit up, despite the way it hurts.

“D-dad?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To my old readers - not too surprised by the irregularity and love of cliffhangers, are you?
> 
> And to my new ones?
> 
> Oh boy. You better strap in, because this is going to be a _doozy._
> 
> Also, yes, apologies for such a late update and very small chapter after such a break! I've been so terribly busy and oh me, oh my! This story surely has blown up, hasn't it? Well, I've got the dreaded finals week coming up, but I'll try and update some more soon! ^^
> 
> come check out my [writing tumblr](http://scripttura.tumblr.com)!


	5. Absolutely helpless

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> " Nails once again biting into your palms, your toes curl and your heart races.  
> There’s no getting out of this – even if he _is_ right. "

His knuckles on the steering wheel are white.

".... You can turn it d-down, y'know." You're curled into the passenger seat, the seat belt chafing your shoulder. Beyond the glass, the road flies by, streetlamps illuminating the night.

He doesn't respond, and you only sink further into the chair, fingers idly playing with your hair. It's a repetitively relaxing motion, even with teeth digging the dead skin from your lip. It's a bad habit; but you don't stop, even as you taste blood.

"... Where're we g-going?" You already have some idea, but that doesn't stop you from asking; anything to break this tense chasm between the two of you. The loud chords of Greenday might be helping _him_ , but it only reminds you of how he hasn't said a word since you left the hospital.

If you're grateful for one thing, it's that you haven't seen Ry in _days._ He hasn't made contact since he dropped you off at the hospital and your step-dad came in, taking charge of your care even if he wasn't legally bound to you ( calling him your step dad, let alone your dad, is nothing but wishful thinking ).

You don't know where Ry went or why he hasn't shown his face; you haven't asked. You don't want to.

The city keeps rolling by, and by the time the car turns down a familiar street, your step-dad still hasn't answered you.

He pulls the beat-up car under the car port in line with so many more - it's his apartment. You aren't sure if you're relieved or scared.

Even as he pulls out the keys and unlocks the car, you don't move, curled into the seat, hands fisted against your legs. Your lip is bleeding.

"Come on." You don't remember the seconds between him getting out and moving to your side of the car, opening the door for you. It's cold and damp - slickened streets reflect the lamplit night against broken concrete.

"Yeah, okay." It takes a moment, but you slowly unfurl as he watches you - time passes in skips and jumps, almost. You're too buried in your own mind and exhaustion.

Suddenly you're standing out of the car as he shuts the door behind you, and you pull your jacket even closer to fight off the chill. You almost stumble into a motorcycle parked in the next space before you catch yourself, then begin to lead your way home.

No, not your home.

 _ ~~It might be now~~_.

The next moment, and you're already on the landing, a hand to your stomach - it aches and throbs like every other part of you. You're probably due one of the painkillers you've been prescribed, and the way your step-dad eyes you as he follows up the stairs, pulling the keys out his pocket, says he knows.

"I'll get you your meds then we're going to bed." His tone offers no room for argument.

That's fine. You only nod, move aside to give him space, and stumble in when he lets you. His apartment hasn’t changed much in the past year or so – messy as a bachelor pad should be, dishes and previously microwaved meals are scattered about aimlessly. A few bottles here and there that you skip your eyes over, nose scrunching at the familiar smell of a smoker’s worst habit.

He steps ahead to the open kitchen attached to the small living area. It’s a small place, and despite the slight mess, it’s well kept. There’s a door off to the side that you know leads to the single bedroom and attached bath, the door creaked open with nothing but shadows beyond. You’re quick to shut the door behind you, locking it mindlessly.

Another jump in perspective, and you’re sitting on the couch as closed off as possible, hands laid over your legs – you don’t dare lean back enough into the cushions behind you, nor to relax in any way. Your eyes are ahead, straight on an unpowered T.V. as the sound of a running tap crashes through the otherwise quiet apartment.

What’re you going to do now?

Eventually, he comes back with a large glass of ice water and a handful of pills, holding them out expectantly. You know better than to say much beyond taking them without even making eye-contact, the tasteless painkillers going down easily. The weight of his gaze is suppressive, and still, you say nothing. He’s doing this for you – even if he’s angry.

Again, with no room for remark, “You’re taking the bed.”

“What?” Finally, you look up – your tired gaze finds his quiet, stern look, and you already know you’ve lost. And yet, you can’t help but push, already feeling like a burden as is. “I – I can take the c-couch. Really, it’s n-no problem, D-daniel.”

“y/n.” His voice cuts through your last bit of resistance, gaze fliting away once more. A heavy sigh, and your nails dig once more into your palm beds. “It’s okay. Take the bed – you need it. We’ll talk in the morning.”

A long moment where you just _breathe_.

“… Okay.”

 

 

 

 

The next morning starts quiet.

Daniel’s already up by the time you gather enough courage to leave his room. You’d probably spent a few hours staring at the motley ceiling before you even bothered sitting up – another half hour of wasting a hot shower until finally getting out and slipping on the same thing you’d already been wearing the night before.

Padding through the door, you find him just cooking in the kitchen. It’s bagels – of _course_ it’s bagels. Seems both you and him being absolutely helpless in the kitchen hasn’t changed, with that being the one thing the both of you could make without burning the kitchen down. It’s such a simple reminder that you can’t help but quirk up a tiny smile. He must hear you approach, because he looks up to you with a softer expression than the night prior.

“Hey kiddo. Sleep well?” He’s currently spreading the cream cheese. You don’t know quite where to stand, trying your best to hold onto that smile and to ignore the tension simmering between you two.

A light shrug, and you watch him work. “Kinda. B-better than, uh, usual. Yeah.”

He gives you a pointed look that has your heart sinking. Quickly, he finishes with the food, handing you a small plate. You’re not sure you have much of an appetite, but when he quickly grabs an already poured glass of ice water with a familiar bunch of pills, you know there’s not much possibility of you escaping this impromptu breakfast.

Instead, you fight down a grimace of a smile, giving him a grateful, “Thanks.”

The two of you find the couch and start on your small breakfasts, the T.V. switching on as Daniel fiddles with the channels. It takes him a minute, but eventually he finds something suitable for both your tastes – some adult cartoon, like the two of you used to watch together. The nostalgia is making you sick.

You can’t eat your bagels slow enough. The weighted silence is suffocating from both the way you don’t even bother to settle against the couch and with how Daniel acts like there isn’t a problem in the world. But there _is_ a problem, an age-old argument the two of you have had time and time again. It sits there between you, a divide against old ties. It’s getting tiring.

_~~You’re getting tired~~ _ _._

“Finished?” Jolted out of your thoughts, he looks expectantly for your plate. You hand it over with a momentary, apologetic smile, and he’s quick to stand to clean up.

Nails once again biting into your palms, your toes curl and your heart races. There’s no getting out of this – even if he _is_ right.

Breathe.

“… y/n. Why haven’t you call me?” His voice makes you curl further inward, with him now standing beside the couch, before the archway to the kitchen. The look in his eyes must mirror your own; exhausted, tired, _helpless_.

_~~He’s trying to help the helpless~~ _ _._

It takes you a minute, swallowing past your sudden fears. “I… I’ve b-been busy, and… I didn’t…”

“You went _back_ to him. _Why?_ ” There’s so much _hurt_ in his voice. You can’t even look at him now, gaze cast aside. “After last time? I’d _shoot_ the bastard if I could – what would your _mother –_ ”

“D on’t.” Your voice breaks and you stand – teeth grinding and arms wrapped loosely around your middle. “Please. D-don’t. I’m…” A moment to breathe as he watches, expectant. You don’t have any reasonable explanation for this. “I’m t-taking care of it. Promise. I… I’m leaving him, soon. I j-just…”

 _ ~~Liar~~_.

“I have to g-go.” A step towards the door, and he takes a step to try and stop you. Only, this time, he doesn’t go further than that. You’ve had this argument time and time again, and you don’t know what about this time that makes him give in so easily, but… bringing up your mother was a low blow even for _him_.

Seems he knows it, too.

Gently, as you reach for the door, “Call me. Please?”

“… Promise.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wHOOPs
> 
> ... Long time no see...? 
> 
> Also this story really blew up??? Wow guys that's really great!! You dorks - well, I always said I couldn't promise consistent updates, but here you guys are anyways. Here's hoping!
> 
> I've been busy with Undertale Roleplay, if you guys're curious! That, school, just enjoying life.
> 
> I promise more monsters next chapter!
> 
> Come bug me at my ( relatively new & empty ) [writing tumblr](http://scripttura.tumblr.com)!


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